


I'm coming back to her side, to put it right

by janie_tangerine



Series: halloween 2k19 tumblr prompts [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creepy Fluff, Death Rituals, F/M, Horror, Murder, Ned Stark Lives, Old Gods, Resurrection, Revenge, SORT OF I MEAN NOT TECHNICALLY, Tumblr Prompt, Undead, it's ned and cat doing their own vengeance hours guise, not for cersei fans, possibly, the author doesn't know wtf is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “How,” she manages to say, barely passing through her lips, and he shakes his head a bit, bends it down, his forehead touching hers —Your sworn sword, she hears, even if he’s not talking.She doesn’t ask herself how it’s happening. He shouldn’t be here anyway. She shouldn’t be here. She knows that.She knows her eyes must have widened or she must have shown surprise. His fingers grasp at her locks.She asked the old gods to help you. I guess they heard her.or: in which the old gods can listen to prayers.





	I'm coming back to her side, to put it right

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO #2 of the halloween prompts, this was for an anon who wanted _Ned and Cat reunion, Ned as some without-head nondead and Cat as Lady Stoneheart who finds back her softness after seeing her love again in pure horror fluff style_. Ned is not THAT headless, but other than that........... HERE YOU GO THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT SAYS ON THE TIN. PLEASE do heed the tags because I guess it's OBVIOUS what's happening regardless I say it outright and I think it's even more obvious from what I quoted in the beginning so if that's not what you wanna read feel free to skip... but hey, it had to be horror. xD
> 
> Also: the title is from kate bush's wuthering heights and is2g finding a title for this thing was the end of me, enjoy whatever the hell this ended up being, see y'all tomorrow with another couple hopefully. ;) *saunters back downwards*

> Brienne shook off her hand. "No one knows."
> 
> "You're wrong," Catelyn said sharply. "Every morning, when I wake, I remember that Ned is gone. I have no skill with swords, but that does not mean that I do not dream of riding to King's Landing and wrapping my hands around Cersei Lannister's white throat and squeezing until her face turns black."
> 
> _A Clash of Kings_, Catelyn V

_The heart tree seems to stare at Brienne as she rides past it._

_She stops her horse._

_She knows that she has no time, she knows that she has to — to find Jaime, but something compels her to stop. She gets down from the horse, looks at what seems the tree’s bloody eyes, wondering why is there even a lone one in the Riverlands, but that’s not — that’s not the point._

_These are not her gods._

_They weren’t even her lady’s, but —_

_But they were her land’s, because Lady Catelyn was more of a northerner than else, wasn’t she? As much as she used to tell Brienne she never quite fit in even after living there for years._

_She puts a hand over the blood-red trunk._

_“If you’re there,” she whispers, “help her.”_

_She doesn’t know if it’s in any way useful, especially when as far as she’s gathered, Lady Catelyn hasn’t come back to life thanks to any of the Seven._

_And yet —_

_She wipes a tear from her eyes, not realizing that another has fallen on the cold hard ground._

_Then she gets back to her horse, the horse _Jaime_ left for her which is sweet to look upon and that he said was _as ugly as her_, and she hopes that whatever she did wasn’t useless, because —_

_She knows that if it came to it, she will make the exact same choice as before. Oh, she’ll bring him there for show, so that Pod and Hyle live, but she won’t take his head. She can’t. She already knows._

_And gods, but she doesn’t want to take _the other _choice._

_But —_

_But she knows she will, if she has to._

—

There’s a carefully sealed chest in a secret vault in Greywater Watch.

It contains Ned Stark’s bones. It never left the castle after it arrived there, for good reason, and Howland Reed has kept that chest very, very well-guarded.

It’s still being very well-guarded when the bones disappear at once from within.

No one notices. The chest stays locked.

The guards feel a certain chill for five seconds. But winter has come, so they don’t mind at all.

—

Somewhere under the walls of King’s Landing, a skull lies in the dirt.

Or at least, it does… until it’s gone in a moment. No one notices it was even there in the first place.

—

There is no one around that heart tree in the Riverlands as Brienne leaves it behind her back.

If she had stayed a few minutes longer, she would have seen dust cobbling up, a light breeze moving it in the right places.

She would have seen feet and hands and a body form out of that dust, and a head on the ground in front of it.

That body would have worn northern clothes and that head would have looked like the late Ned Stark’s, although with pale skin, dirty hair and closed grey eyes.

Knees bend down as pale grey hands reach out for it.

When the severed head is placed back on the man’s neck, his grey eyes open. They’re not quite alive. They’re also not quite dead either.

He tries to speak.

Nothing comes out of his mouth.

If it had, it would have been, _thank you_.

—

Later, Lady Stoneheart is standing as her usual, her fingers clutching at her shawl.

She might be savoring the first real taste of her revenge. The small fish they hanged until now were nothing in comparison to — in comparison to the man who _sent his regards_ to all of them.

Oh, she _will_ make sure Jaime Lannister hears that Robb sends his before he dies. She will say it in his golden face. Maybe she _will_ take his life herself, after all. She had dreamed she would choke his sweet sister to death, once. _Before_. She still dreams of it sometimes. But she will take great pleasure in choking _him_ first. Oh, she will, she _will_ —

That is, until she feels a cold, cold bout of wind come at her.

Her shawl almost flies away and she grasps at it with pale fingers, and she turns slowly on her back. It’s probably nothing. Winter has come after all. The way —

She finds out she cannot move.

Because behind her —

There is —

_“Ned_?” She rasps, her voice barely audible, her hand reaching up for her throat, covering the cuts.

It _is_ Ned. He has the same eyes, the same hair, the same — he’s as she last remembers having seen him, except _dead_, but hasn’t she — hasn’t she died, _too_?

He nods, taking a step forward. She can see the dark red slash on his neck, even if it’s more than a slash. Oh, _more_ than that.

She lets her hand fall down, exposing her neck again, and her torn face, and suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore, not when he nods and his hand reaches for her hair.

It’s cold.

It doesn’t matter.

“_How_,” she manages to say, barely passing through her lips, and he shakes his head a bit, bends it down, his forehead touching hers —

_Your sworn sword_, she hears, even if he’s not talking.

She doesn’t ask herself how it’s happening. He shouldn’t be here anyway. _She_ shouldn’t be here. She knows that.

She knows her eyes must have widened or she must have shown surprise. His fingers grasp at her locks.

_She asked the old gods to help you. I guess they heard her._

Oh.

Oh.

And she — and she was about to hang her, wasn’t she? And even with that, she — she —

She asked for —

Maybe, if she had been alive, she could have cried. But now she can’t and still, Ned’s hand is cupping her cheek, and he’s maybe smiling, and —

_I still love your hair_, she hears.

She reaches up, delicately brings his head down, her fingers touching the spot where head meets neck.

She had missed kissing him.

She had missed kissing him very much.

— 

_It’s not Jaime Lannister we should be seek revenge against_, he whispers to her a short time later.

“How,” she rasps back.

_I know. Being properly dead gives you that perspective_.

She can’t help smiling maybe just a tiny bit.

She thinks, _I used to dream of going to King’s Landing and kill his sister myself_.

Ned smiles a bit wider. Wait, did he hear her —?

_She is the reason I died in the first place, isn’t she_?, Catelyn hears.

The cuts on her face used to hurt, when she smiled.

Now they don’t anymore.

—

_The clearing is empty when Brienne arrives, Jaime Lannister in tow._

_Pod and Hyle are tied to a tree. Alive._

_There is no Stoneheart anywhere to be seen._

_When they tell them what happened, Brienne almost faints._

_So —_

_So it worked, didn’t —_

_“Before she left,” Hyle rasps, his hand going to his neck, “she whispered something to one of the others, he said to tell you that she realized she was wrong about the both of you and is very grateful for your service. Also, if the Kingslayer here cares for his sister’s life, she’ll have her revenge soon enough.”_

_Jaime’s eyes widen as he takes in that information._

_Then he shrugs._

_“I figured she’d be dead already by the time I came back. If I did.”_

_“Well,” Hyle snorts, “I’m just glad I didn’t have to die for the likes of you.”_

_“… For the likes of me?” Jaime asks, then turns to Brienne again._

_She supposes she will have to tell him._

_She also doesn’t want to know what she has unleashed, but she can’t bring herself to be sad about it._

_Not if she doesn’t have to make that one choice._

—

Later, Catelyn finds out that seeing Cersei’s face turn black under her own fingers is exactly as satisfying as she had imagined it to be back in the day. But just before she knows she _would_ crush her, she looks up at Ned.

“Should be yours,” she chokes out, and maybe Ned would have been too honorable to do such a thing —

_Before._

Not now, though.

—

_My lady wife sends her regards_, Catelyn hears before he finishes the job, his own hands moving where Catelyn’s had been.

Neither of them guesses why Cersei’s last words are about some _valonqar_. It doesn’t matter.

His fingers brush along her hair again, finding a few auburn strands that haven’t gone white yet.

His touch is not cold.

Not at all.

End.


End file.
